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SONGS OF RUSSIA 



SONGS OF RUSSIA 



RENDERED INTO ENGLISH VERSE 



BY 
ALICE STONE BLACKWELL 

Author of "Armenian Poems" 



<£ 



PUBLISHED BY THE AUTHOR 

1906 



**$» 



LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
Two Copies Received 

DEC 26 1905 

Copyright Entry 
CLASS CX- XXc.Nft. 

tM > ft* 

COPY B. 



Copyright, 1905 
By ALICE STONE BLACKWELL 



I 



Printed under the Supervision of 

CHARLES H. KERR & COMPANY (Co-operative) 

56 Fifth Avenue, Chicago 



PREFACE 

In America, popular interest in Russia has 
been much increased by the Russo-Japanese 
war. The utter inefficiency, incapacity and 
corruption of the Russian government were 
made plain to the American people by the war, 
as the autocracy's lack of regard for all moral 
considerations had already been made plain by 
its treatment of the Finns, Jews, Poles and 
Armenians, and by the persecution of Russia's 
most distinguished literary men. The inevita- 
ble result has been increased sympathy with 
the Russian people, as opposed to the Rus- 
sian government; and a growing interest in 
the great and gallant struggle for liberty which 
the best sons and daughters of Russia have 
been carrying on for years against tremendous 
odds. 

This little volume aims to give a glimpse 
into the thoughts and aspirations of some Rus- 
sian lovers of freedom, as revealed in their 
poetry. It includes twenty-five poems trans- 

5 



PREFACE 

Iated from the Russian, and four from the 
Yiddish. 

These renderings in verse have been made 
from prose translations furnished me by dif- 
ferent friends. Among those to whom I have 
been indebted for this help are Miss Annie 
Seitlen, Dr. Antoinette Konikow, and Miss Bes- 
sie Levine. The versified renderings of the 
Yiddish poems by Morris Rosenfeld are from 
prose translations made by Professor Leo 
Wiener of Harvard. 

Alice Stone Blackwell, 

45 Boutwell Ave*, Dorchester, Mass, 



6 



TABLE OF CONTENTS 



The Song of the Storm-Finch, 


Maxim Gorky 


9 


The Pines, 


- 


V. V. Bashkin 


13 


Timid Love, - 




- S. J. Nadson 


14 


The Word, 


- 




15 


Dreams, 




" 


17 


RECONCILIATION, 


- 




22 


A Glance, - 




" 


26 


Poesy, - 


- 




27 


The People's Poet, 




" 


28 


Russia's Lament, 


- 


Nekrasov 


30 


Russian Peasant Children, 




« 


32 


The Mourner, - 


- 


" 


33 


Freedom, 




*• 


34 


The Jewish Soldier, - 


- 


Morris Rosenfeld 


36 


On Ocean's Bosom, - 




t& 


40 


To the Youth of Russia, 


- 


G. Galin 


45 


On the Eve, 




a 


46 


Life, ... 


- 


a 


47 


Come! - 




m U 


48 


In Prison, 


- 


P. Polivanov 


49 


Spring in Prison 




" 


51 


7 









TABLE OF CONTENTS 



The Prisoner's Dream, 


P. Polivanov 


52 


In Alexis Ravelin, 


a 


54 


Last Days, 


u 


56 


Love's Ebb and Flow, 


- A. K. Tolstoy 


57 


Night and Morning, - 


M. L. Mikliailov 


58 


Death's Jest 


N. A. Dobroliubov 


59 


At Strife 


David Edelstadt 


60 


My Will 


a 


62 



SONGS OF RUSSIA 



THE SONG OF THE STORM-FINCH 

MAXIM GORKY 

The strong wind is gathering the storm-clouds 

together 
Above the gray plain of the ocean so wide. 
The storm-finch, the bird that resembles dark 

lightning, 
Between clouds and ocean is soaring in pride. 

Now skimming the waves with his wings, and 

now shooting 
Up, arrow-like, into the dark clouds on high, 
The storm-finch is clamoring loudly and shrilly ; 
The clouds can hear joy in the bird's fearless 

cry. 

In that cry is the yearning, the thirst for the 

tempest, 
And angers hot might in its wild notes is 

heard ; 
The keen fire of passion, the faith in sure 

triumph — 
All these the clouds hear in the voice of the 

bird. 

9 



SONGS OF RUSSIA 

The seagulls lament when a storm is impending, 
They flit o'er the waves with a wail in their cry ; 
They are ready to hide in the depths of the 

ocean 
Their dread of the tempest that threatens on 

high. 

The cargeese and grebes, too, shriek hoarsely 

in terror, 
They mourn and complain when the tempest 

is near; 
They know not the joy of a life-and-death 

struggle; 
The crash of the thunderbolt fills them with 

fear. 

The fat, foolish penguin "hides, timid and 

craven, 
In nooks of the cliffs, where it finds a safe 

home; 
Alone the proud storm-finch soars freely and 

boldly 
Above the rough ocean, all hoary with foam. 

Still nearer and darker the storm-clouds are 

lowering 
Above the broad ocean; the waves as they beat 
Are singing and dancing ; they lift themselves 

upward 
As if they were longing the thunder to meet. 

10 



THE SONG OF THE STORM-FINCH 

The thunder is crashing, the billows are roar- 
ing, 

And foaming with rage, and they shriek and 
they gasp 

As they strive with the gale. Now the storm- 
wind clasps fiercely 

A bevy of waves in his powerful grasp, 

And hurls them, with all his mad strength, in 

grim fury, 
Against the precipitous cliffs of the rock. 
The emerald masses of water are shattered 
To spray and fine mist by the force of the 

shock. 

The storm-finch, the bird that resembles dark 

lightning, 
Is soaring with cries 'mid the tempest's fierce 

breath ; 
Like an arrow he pierces the clouds; with his 

pinions 
He dashes the foam from the billows beneath. 

He darts like a haughty black demon of temp- 
est, 

In wild exultation that knows no alloy. 

'Twixt the sea and the sky he is laughing 
and sobbing; 

He laughs to the clouds, he is sobbing for joy! 

11 



SONGS OF RUSSIA 

In the wrath of the thunder, the keen, quick- 
eared demon 

Has long since detected a note of fatigue. 

He is firm in his faith that the clouds will 
not cover 

The bright sun for aye, though they stretch 
league on league. 

The storm-wind is howling, the thunder is 
roaring ; 

With flame blue and lambent the cloud-masses 
glow 

O'er the fathomless ocean; it catches the light- 
nings, 

And quenches them deep in its whirlpool below* 

Like serpents of fire in the dark ocean writhing, 
The lightnings reflected there quiver and shake 
As into the blackness they vanish forever. 
The tempest! Now quickly the tempest will 
break ! 

The storm-finch soars fearless and proud 'mid 

the lightnings, 
Above the wild waves that the roaring winds 

fret ; 
And what is the prophet of victory saying? 
"Oh, let the storm burst! Fiercer yet — fiercer 

yet!" 

12 



THE PINES 

V. V. BASHKIN 

The dark pines by my window murmur low, 
The wind sways sleepily their summits hoar; 
I hear them whispering in monotone 
Still the same tale — the same forevermore. 

"In a sad part of earth we sprang to life ; 
In a sad land no happiness can dwell. 
We by the dim gray mists are wearied out; 
Our lives are drearier than a prison cell. 

"We have forgotten how to wait and hope. 
Here we are cold, and darksome is the sky. 
Here we can only suffer and endure 
In patience; here it would be good to die." 

The sad pines by my window murmur low, 
The wind sways sleepily their summits hoar; 
I hear them whispering in monotone 
Still the same tale — the same forevermore* 



13 



TIMID LOVE 

s. j. nadson (b. 1862, d. 1887). 

Oft of thy love, my friend, I fondly dreamed ; 

Such musings made my glad heart throb like 
flame. 
But yet, whene'er I met thy happy glance, 

Straightway perplexed and troubled I became. 

I feared the impulse soon woulcl pass away, 
Thy short caprice of sympathy be flown, 

And I, who dreamed of bliss beyond my reach, 
Be doubly orphaned, left again alone. 

As if thy love were stolen, thy caress, 

Sweet and unhoped for, were a phantom frail, 

It gleamed, lit up the dark, and then was gone, 
Brief as a sound, false as a fairy tale; 

As if thy tender, deep-blue glance, my love, 
By chance or by mistake were given to me; 

And in my feverish dreams at night it seems 
That with the coming of the dawn 'twill flee. 

Thus, parched by desert heats, a wanderer 
Spies an oasis, but he doubts it yet; 

Is it not some mirage in yon blue sky 
Alluring him to rest and to forget? 

14 



THE WORD 

NADSON 

Oh, had the Muses given to me the gift 

Of burning speech, of clear and fiery song, 

How mercilessly and how sternly then 

Would I with infamy brand vice and wrong! 

I would rouse all against the dark to strive, 
Unfurl the banner bright of light and fire, 

And with my glowing song the listening world 
With longing for the truth I would inspire. 

Oh, with what mighty laughter I would laugh! 

What burning tears of sorrow I would shed ! 
To earth the holy, long-forgot Ideal 

Should come again, arisen from the dead. 

The world should waken, filled with fear, and 
quake, 

Like to a culprit, conscience-struck within; 
It should look back upon the guilty past, 

And meekly wait the sentence for its sin. 

In that dead silence reigning all around, 

My fearless voice should thunder loud and 
clear, 

15 



SONGS OF RUSSIA 

Resound with indignation's sacred fire, 

And ring with teardrops heartfelt and sin- 
cere. 

Not unto me such power of speech is given; 

My voice is weak to plead the cause of truth. 
My soul indeed is ready for the strife, 

But in me fails the energy of youth 

Within my breast is but a barren sod, 

Upon my lips, reproach that cannot save, 

And in my heart the sad acknowledgment 
That I am not a prophet, but a slave. 



16 



DREAMS 

NADSON 

(In the first part of the poem, Nadson tells 
how in his boyhood he aspired to be the poet 
of beauty and to sing before great personages. 
Later he changed his mind. He continues:) 

Henceforth I am the poet of labor, knowledge, 

grief — 
No more in praise of beauty my hand the harp 

shall sweep. 
I sing no song of conquest, no song of glorious 

deeds ; 
I suffer with the suffering, I weep with those 

who weep. 

I give the weary one my hand. Though heavy 

be my cross, 
Though storms and doubts, misfortune and 

struggle be my part, 
Yet it has brought me also bright moments of 

delight, 
Moments of high and holy joy that overflowed 

my heart. 

One night I well remember: pale, like one who 
suffers much, 

17 



SONGS OF RUSSIA 

That night came down from heaven's blue 
height, pensive and lingering ; 

Came with the shy and coy caress of silver- 
shining May, 

Came with the salutation of the mournful 
Northern Spring. 

We opened all the windows wide; and, with the 

sound of wheels 
Upon the echoing pavement, the night, with 

shadows murk, 
Came to us, and was welcomed with heartiness 

and joy 
Unto our modest festival, our cosy nook of 

work. 

And even as it entered, and as throughout the 

room 
Spread soft the fragrant perfume of blooming 

lilac sprays, 
Silently following it, a band of mournful 

shadows came — 
A throng of sounds that whispered from the 

depths of long-past days. 

Those who had sought the capital from districts 

far away 
Thought of their homes — the village poor, the 

church, the fields beyond; 

18 



DREAMS 

Against their will it all came back — the plains, 

the village street, 
The poplar standing motionless above the silent 

pond. 

The garden they remembered, known from their 

cradle-time, 
Where in the days of childhood, forever past, 

they played — 
Where merrily the broken swing was wont to 

creak aloud, 
And rippling laughter blithe was heard beneath 

the chequered shade; 

The steep hill and the bower on it, the strips 

of golden wheat, 
The path that like a serpent into the dark 

woods wound, 
The peaceful light of dawn that shone beyond 

the slumberous stream — 
And silence on our circle fell; we sat without 

a sound. 

We all of us were longing to forget: for want 
and toil, 

Privations sore and many cares had weighed 
upon us long; 

And, with a gentle, soothing song of recon- 
ciling love, 

19 



SONGS OF RUSSIA 

I, even as in my youthful dreams, stepped 
forth before the throng. 

Before me was no splendid hall, illumed with 
brilliant light, 

Here in this room, so poor and small, sunk in 
half darkness now, 

Where Thought alone was glittering in death- 
less beauty bright, 

Wearing a crown of painful thorns upon her 
queenly brow. 

My voice rang not that evening to amuse an 

idle throng 
Of full-gorged earthly demi-gods; no! I was 

singing then, 
Without expecting glory and without desiring 

praise, 
As a brother unto brothers, unto tired and 

toil-worn men. 

I sang to those who gathered around the flag 

of truth, 
To those who, in their struggle, were suffering 

bitter pain. 
I to]d them that their toiling hands should 

falter not, nor droop, 
And their young union, newly formed, should 

not dissolve again. 

20 



DREAMS 

I sang to them a glowing hymn, inspired and 

filled with hope; 
I sang that truth was destined to be victor in 

the fight; 
That darkness could not evermore resist its 

radiance clear, 
And that the future of our land would joyful 

be and bright. 

And all that I had hidden and cherished in 

my heart, 
Like to a precious treasure, through hard days, 

slow and long — 
My highest aspirations, my best and noblest 

dreams, 
I poured them all forth freely in the accents 

of that song. 

I ceased. The song was followed by no thun- 
ders of applause, 

No wreaths came dropping at my feet, a 
fragrant, flowery storm; 

The guerdon of the singer is a moment's silence 
deep, 

And, in the hush, a hand-clasp — a hand-clasp 
close and warm. 

But whence and wherefore are these tears ? How 
proud and glad am I! 

21 



SONGS OF RUSSIA 

My country, oh, accept me! Henceforward I 

am thine. 
The gorgeous dreams of childhood pale, the 

phantom roses fade, 
Before the joy that now in true reality is mine! 



22 



RECONCILIATION 

NADSON 

Long lasted our dispute, intense to tears. 

We were all gathered, and we were alone. 
Distressing thoughts and anguish and dark 
doubts 
For days had vexed and wrung us, sparing 
none. 

In our own circle here no monarch's power 
Restrained free speech, and in those hours, 
too brief, 

It poured forth freely and it sounded harsh, 
And each of us, while speaking, felt relief. 

Brothers whose aspirations were the same, 
Life's fellow-travellers on the self -same path, 

Oh, strange with what mistrust and bitterness 
We on each other gazed, like foes in wrath! 

Were we not all by one same feeling warmed, 
The sacred love of our own country dear, 

And on our lives, in stifling darkness wrapped, 
Had not the self -same sun of hope shone clear? 

You listened to us sadly ; and sometimes 

When I glanced at you, as we fiercely strove, 

23 



SONGS OF RUSSIA 

It seemed to me you suffered for our sake, 
And longed to tell us something, filled with 
love. 

The night was fleeting; through the whitening 
pane 

The day appeared ; star after star died slow ; 
The lamp's red, flickering light was melting now 

Into the golden dawn's triumphant glow. 

To the piano silently you stepped, 

And touched the keys that dumbly glimmered 
there ; 
And an impassioned strain of love and grief 
Beneath your hands gushed forth upon the 
air. 

What was it in your song like a reproach, 
That, full of sadness, o'er our circle came, 

And hotly stirred the heart within my breast, 
And filled it with pure love and burning 
shame ? 

I do not know. Was it the sleepless night? 
Was it my sick nerves playing? Tears would 
rise. 
My bosom heaved with them ; a moment more, 
And they burst forth with passion from mine 
eyes. 

24 



RECONCILIATION 

As if some friend of deeply truthful soul 
Had come to us — all angry, wretched, ill — 

And had begun to speak, our circle now, 

Revived and filled with joy, grew hushed and 
still. 

Groundless complaints and clamorous phrases 
loud, 

And vanity, with its envenomed darts — 
Whatever of harm life, like a viewless plague, 

Sows 'mid us all, e'en in the noblest hearts — 

All these grew calm, and only one desire, 
One impulse in us all blazed into fire — 

To suffer and to strive with all our souls 
To scatter the surrounding darkness dire. 

O friend ! your notes revealed to us that night 
All that was false in us, unseen till then ; 

And we clasped hands more firmly when at dawn 
We to our daily work returned again. 



25 



A GLANCE 



NADSON 



But yesterday, renouncing happiness, 

I scorned contented souls who held love dear. 

And who exchanged the autumn's fog and chill 
For the spring sun's caressing warmth and 
cheer. 

I said that while the world is full of tears, 
And dense, unbroken darkness reigns around, 

It were a shame to dream of ease and bliss 
Within one's own home-corner to be found. 

But lo ! to-day the golden-shining Spring, 

Flower-clad, has glanced in at my window too ; 

And my tired heart beat rapidly, and grieved 
That all within was poor and dark to view. 

A passing glance of kindly sympathy, 
Sadness upon a beautiful young face — 

And a mad wish is mine for happiness, 

Tears, endless love, a woman's fond embrace. 



26 






POESY 

NADSON 

Long years ago she to our earth descended 
From heaven's calm depths of shadowy air 
and cloud, 
With youthful smile and crowned with fragrant 
roses, 
Nude, lovely, of her sinless beauty proud. 

She brought with her till then unknown emo- 
tions — 

Music of heaven and love of dreams she bore. 
Her law was art for art, she knew no other; 

Her mission, to serve beauty evermore. 

But soon the splendid flowers, torn from her 
forehead, 
Were trampled in the dust ; and dark and 
cold 
A cloud overspread her beauteous virgin features 
With doubt and grief; mute are the hymns 
of old! 

Far, far away the notes of exultation, 

Leaving no echo, by the storm are borne ; 
And now her song breathes fire of the soul's 
torment, 
Her heavenly brow is pierced with many a 
thorn. 

27 



THE PEOPLE'S POET 

NADSON 

I know, dear friend, deep in my heart I know 
My verse is pale and faint and lacking power. 

Oft for its weakness do I sadly grieve, 

And pour forth secret tears at night's still 
hour. 

In vain at times forth from my lips would burst 
A cry of anguish I can scarce endure; 

In vain at times love almost burns my soul — 
Cold is our tongue, and lamentably poor. 

The rainbow of the flowers of many kinds, 
Sweet music dying on the chord away, 

Grief for ideals, and tears for liberty — 
How tell of these in words of every day? 

This boundless world outspread before our eyes, 
The world of mind, so full of anxious fear — 

How draw them true to life, with timid strokes, 
Pent in my verse's narrow framework here? 

But to be mute while hearing sounds of woe 
That to allay we struggle eagerly — 

Beneath the storm of strife, in face of pain, 
Wounded, I cannot, will not silent be. 

28 



THE PEOPLE'S POET 

If hero-like I may not shatter chains, 

Nor prophet-like spread light sublime and 
clear, 
I with the crowd have mixed, and share its pain, 
And give, as strength permits me, help and 
cheer. 



RUSSIA'S LAMENT 
N. A. nekrasov (b. 1821, d. 1877)* 

Dost thou know, my native country, 

Any house or corner lone 
Where thy Tiller and thy Sower, 

Russia's peasant, does not moan? 

In the fields, along the highways, 
In the cells and dungeons black, 

In the mines in iron fetters, 
By the side of barn and stack; 

'Neath the carts, his nightly shelter 
On the steppes so wide and bare, 

All the air is filled with groaning 
Every hour and everywhere. 

Groans in huts, in town and village — 
E'en the sunlight's self he hates — 

Groans before the halls of justice, 
Buffetings at mansion-gates. 

On the Volga, hark, what wailing 
O'er the mighty river floats? 

'Tis a song, they say — the chanting 
Of the men who haul the boats. 

30 



RUSSIA'S LAMENT 

Thou dost not in spring, vast Volga, 
Flood the fields along thy strand 

As our nation's flood of sorrow, 
Swelling, overflows the land. 

O my heart, what is the meaning 
Of this endless anguish deep? 

Wilt thou ever, O my country, 

Waken, full of strength, from sleep? 

Or, by heaven's mystic mandate, 

Is thy fate fulfilled to-day, 
Singing thus thy dirge, thy death-song, 

Falling then asleep for aye? 



RUSSIAN PEASANT CHILDREN 

NEKRASOV 

Again I'm in the country, once again! 

I hunt, write verses, and am free from care. 
Yesterday, tired with tramping through the 
swamps, 

I strayed into the barn and slumbered there. 

When I awakened, through the barn's wide 
cracks 

The beams of a rejoicing sun shone in. 
A dove is cooing; flying o'er the roof, 

I hear the young rooks caw, with joyous din. 

Another bird is flitting through the air; 

I know it by its shadow for a crow. 
Hark! there is whispering! All along a crack 

Attentive eyes are gazing, in a row. 

As flowers grow all commingled in the fields, 
Were mingled eyes of gray, of brown, of blue. 

How full they were of freedom and repose, 
Of soft caressing, and of goodness, too! 

The look in a child's eyes I always know, 

And dearly love. — Thought faded from my 
brain ; 

A sense of something holy filled my soul. 
Hush, listen ! There is whispering again ! 

32 



THE MOURNER 

NEKRASOV 

As to war's terrors and alarms I list, 

When some new victim hath his life-blood 
shed, 

'Tis not his wife I pity, nor his friend, 
Nor grieve I for the hero who is dead. 

The wife in time will cease to mourn her loss, 
The best of friends and comrades will forget ; 

But there is one who will remember him 
Even unto her grave, with eyes still wet. 

Amid our trivial, hypocritic lives, 
The only tears all holy and sincere 

That I have seen, are those by mothers shed, 
Who sorrow for their children, ever dear. 

Their children on the bloody field who fell 
They ne'er forget, but mourn them all their 
days. 

Like are they to the weeping willow tree, 
That never can its drooping branches raise. 



33 



FREEDOM 

NEKRASOV 

(Written at the time of the emancipation of 
the serfs.) 

O'er thy plains, my native country, 

In the years now past away, 
Never did I ride with feelings 

Such as fill my soul to-day! 

In its mother's arms reposing, 

Lo ! a peasant's child I see, 
And my heart is stirred to gladness 

By a thought most dear to me. 

You were born in times auspicious, 

Child, into this world below; 
With God's help, in days before you, 

Pain and grief you shall not know. 

With the light of youth around you, 

Ere you enter on the strife, 
Freely and with none to hinder 

You shall choose your path in life. 

You shall, if you so desire it, 
Be a peasant evermore; 

34 



FREEDOM 

If you have the power within you, 
Like an eagle you shall soar. 

But, it may be, many errors 
Lurk in fancies such as these, 

For man's intellect is subtle, 

Swayed and influenced with ease. 

And, beside the snares of old time 
Spread the peasants' feet before, 

Well I know designing people 
Have invented many more. 

Yes, but for the folk to break them 

It no harder task will be. 
Then, O Muse, with hope and gladness 

Hail the dawn of liberty! 



35 



THE JEWISH SOLDIER 

(From the Yiddish of Morris Rosenfeld) 

Not far from Plevna, fifty and a hundred steps 

away, 
There is a grave, but where it lies no passer-by 

could say. 
The place is all forsaken, a dreary spot and 

lone; 
No wreath lies on that sepulchre, there stands 

no marble stone; 
There grows no grass, no flower, no leaf — yet 

there in death's embrace 
A hero rests, a soldier brave who came of Jew- 
ish race. 
Upon the spot where erst he fell in battle he 

doth lie, 
Where Russia celebrates with pride her greatest 

victory. 

A deep, dead silence reigns around; all things 

have fallen asleep; 
But when the clock upon the tower at midnight 

boometh deep, 
A strong east wind begins to blow; it thunders, 

it appals, 

36 



THE JEWISH SOLDIER 

It clamors, storms and rattles, it roars and 

loudly calls; 
And 'neath the storm the silent earth cleaves 

and doth open stand; 
The hero rises from his grave, his drawn sword 

in his hand. 

He stands upon the fortress, grim courage in his 

frown, 
And from the wound within his heart the blood 

is flowing down. 
His pure blood wells forth freely, his heart's 

deep wound is wide; 
He lifts his sword, and cries in tones that ring 

on every side: 
"My comrades of the war, arise to judgment! 

Speak and say! 
Tell me, did I fight faithfully upon the battle 

day? 
Say, did I fall upon this spot with an heroic 

band, 
And die for Russia's honor, die for the Russian 

land?" 

And then in wrath a countless host awakens 

suddenly, 
As many as the sands that sleep beside a silent 

sea. 
For swiftly the whole army arises at his call ; 

37 



SONGS OF RUSSIA 

From near and far, with heavy tread, they 

gather, one and all. 
There is a trampling and a clang, a marching 

and a hum, 
A galloping and whirling, as in a cloud they 

come; 
And of that phantom army each soldier lifts 

his hand, 
And swears, "You died with honor, died for 

your native land!" 

Soon all again is quiet, the night is still as 

death, 
And all that countless army has vanished in a 

breath. 
But still the Jewish soldier on the fortress stands 

alone, 
And every word he utters like a hot grenade is 

thrown : 
"O Russia ! from my wife and child you reft 

me without ruth, 
And to defend your honor I perished in my 

youth. 
Why now my wretched family drive forth their 

bread to find 
In distant lands? A heavy curse I send you on 
.' the wind!" 

Scarce has the curse been uttered — full fraught 
with pain, alack ! — 



THE JEWISH SOLDIER 

When into the cold grave again the tempest 
sweeps him back; 

And every night at midnight this scene is acted 
o'er. 

The soldier's curses, deep and dread, are gath- 
ering more and more. 

They grow and grow ; the tempest's wings on to 
Gatschina bear 

Those curses keen, and scatter them upon the 
palace there* 



39 



ON OCEAN'S BOSOM 

(From the Yiddish of Morris Rosenfeld) 

The awful wind, the storm with peril fraught, 
Is wrestling with a ship upon the sea. 

It would destroy her; she in sore distress 
Cleaves the deep waters, groaning heavily. 

The mast is cracking, quivering is the sail, 
Frightful the water's depths of roaring strife ; 

The wind contends and struggles with the ship 
In fury, in a fight for death and life. 

Now she is driven forward and now back, 

Now she must stoop, now rise upon the main* 

The ship is but a plaything of the waves 

That swallow her, then spew her forth again. 

The ocean roars, the billows lift themselves, 
And awfully they thunder, lash and hiss. 

The murderous storm seeks all tilings to destroy, 
And opened are the jaws of the abyss. 

Sighs, prayers are heard, for great the peril is, 
And dreadful the distress. With suppliant 
breath 

40 



ON OCEAN'S BOSOM 

Now every man is calling on his God 
To save the people from a certain death. 

The children weep, the women wail in fear, 
The folk confess their sins, with desperate 
mind; 

And souls are fluttering, bodies quivering, 
In terror of the mad, destructive wind. 

But in the steerage down below, two men 
Sit quietly ; no pangs their heart-strings thrill. 

They seek no rescue and they make no plans, 
As if all things around were safe and still. 

The water roars, the billows foam, the winds 
Howl with prodigious tumult as they blow ; 

The boiler gasps, the smokestack buzzes loud, 
But calm and silent are the men below. 

Coolly they gaze into the eyes of Death; 

They care not for the tempest's dangerous 
might. 
It seems as if the spectre Death himself 

Had reared the two, in terror and dark night. 

"Who are you, tell me, miserable men, 

That 3 r ou can hide all signs of pain and 
dread — 

That even at the awful gates of death 

You have no sighs to breathe, no tears to shed ? 

41 



SONGS OF RUSSIA 

"Say, did graves give you birth, and do you 
leave 

No parents and no wife behind to weep — 
No child who will lament when you are lost 

In these abysses terrible and deep? 

"Do you leave no one to feel grief for you, 
To long for you, shed tears in sorrow sore, 

When the vast watery graveyard covers you 
And you unto the earth return no more? 

"Have you no country and no fatherland, 
No friendly house, no home to which to go, 

That you have such contempt for life, and wait 
For the dark grave without a sign of woe ? 

"No one in heaven have you on whom to call 
From trouble's depths, no God to whom to 
cry? 

Have you no nation, say, have you no faith? 
Ye wretched ones, what is your destiny?" 

Yawns the abyss, and loud the billows roar; 

Creaks the ship's rigging as the blast sweeps 
by; 
The tempest howls, and wildly pipe the winds; 

And thus, at last, with tears one makes reply: 

"The graveyard dark was not our mother, nay, 
Nor was the grave our cradle-bed of old. 

42 



ON OCEAN'S BOSOM 

'Twas a good angel that gave birth to us, 
A mother dear, with heart of tenderest mould. 

"A mother fondled us, a loving breast 

Nurtured us, warm as any breast could be. 

A happy father also every day 

Gazed in our eyes and kissed us tenderly. 

"We had a house, but it has been destroyed; 
Our hoty things were burned by murderous 
bands, 
Our best and dearest slain — dead bones are they ; 
Those left were driven forth with fettered 
hands. 

"Known is our country — oh! 'tis recognized 
With ease, alas! by ceaseless bloody news 

Of baitings, beatings, burnings, riots wild, 
Death and destruction dealt to wretched Jews. 

"Jews, hapless Jews are we, without a friend, 
A joy, or hope of happiness, alack! 

Ask us no more, no more ! Leave us in peace. 
America to Russia drives us back — 

"To Russia, whence we fled ; to Russia back, 
Because we have no money. Journeying thus, 

What have we left to look for or to hope? 
What good is life or this dark world to us ? 

43 



SONGS OF RUSSIA 

'Something you have to weep for; you have 
cause 
To murmur and fear death. You have a home 
To which to go; you left America 

Of your free choice, not forced by fate to 
roam. 

"We are forlorn and lonely like a rock; 

On this ill earth no place for us is found. 
Travellers are we, but no one waits for us. 

Tell us, I pray you, whither we are bound? 

"Let the wind storm, and let it howl with rage, 
Let the deep seethe and boil and roar around ! 

We Jews are lost, however it may be ; 

The sea alone can quench our burning wound." 



44 



TO THE YOUTH OF RUSSIA 

G. GAL.IN 

A forest is cut down with ruthless axe, 

A forest young and green doth prostrate lie; 

While ancient pines, with thoughts inscrutable, 
Gaze, stern and sad, into the silent sky. 

A forest is cut down ; is it because 

Its early rustle glad bade Nature wake, 

Or that in youth it boldly sang aloud 

Of joy, the sun, spring's dawn about to break? 

A forest is cut down ; earth hides the seeds, 
And when the new green wall of struggling 
trees 
Springs up, awakened by life's force, their 
boughs 
O'er brothers' graves will murmur in the 
breeze. 



45 



ON THE EVE 

G. GALIN 

The Frost has not yet lifted his eyes from off 
the fields, 
The forests still stand meek and mute — all 
leafless are their bowers; 
And yet methinks I feel the earth already thrill 
and throb 
Unsteadily and softly with the springing of 
the flowers. 

The traces of chill, gloomy tears have not yet 
dried away, 
The song of grief and suffering has not died 
upon the air, , 
Yet in my heart there swells again, sweet as the 
breath of spring, 
The music of a joyous hope, a dream most 
glad and fair. 



46 



LIFE 

G. GAUN 

No, no! I pray not for eternal sleep, 
Nor sadly call on death its peace to give; 

One wish alone, with flame unquenchable, 
Burns in my soul — it is the wish to live. 

The wintry blizzard, with its icy hands, 

Thus to break down a living tree doth strive ; 

But, though it bends to earth with frozen 
boughs, 
It fights and struggles on, that it may live. 



47 



COME! 

G. GAUN 

Come, bright blue holiday of spring, 
With all thy hopes and fears, 

And let my peace be broken, 
And let my heart know tears! 

Come! Spare not this weak spirit! 

Wake all that sleeps to-day 
In silence, and thy blossoms give 

To strew along my way! 

Come! though thy nights will vanish, 
The nightingales grow dumb, 

And though the autumn threatens 
In gloom beyond thee — come! 



48 



IN PRISON 

P. POLIVANOV 

[Polivanov was a revolutionist who tried to 
rescue some of his friends from prison. He was 
caught, and was imprisoned for twenty years in 
the fortress of Schlusselbourg. At the end of 
his term he was released, with shattered nerves, 
and soon after committed suicide.] 

I long for liberty, I long for light; 

I want to draw a full breath, deep and clear ; 
I want — Well, brother, now the song is sung. 

For years, for ages, you are buried here. 

By the damp cell's cold wall, the iron bar 
Across the heavy doors that will not move, 

You are cut off from all the living world 
Forever, from life's joys, from those you love. 

Take leave forevermore, then, of your dreams. 
Your native steppes, and meads, and forests 
free, 

And of the hope with which you used to live, 
And the ideal you served so faithfully. 

49 



SONGS OF RUSSIA 

Take leave of all, then, and submit yourself; 

Bow to your helpless and depressing fate. 
What use to dream of freedom, pine for it, 

For life, work, strife, outside the prison gate? 

Let fear nor hope nor joy nor sorrow come 
Unto your broken heart a throb to lend. 

Life's ocean you will never see again ; 

Your own life's journey, too, will shortly end. 

In Death's embrace your respite you will find 
From grief and suffering; in oblivion's sea 

You will receive your guerdon — the repose 
You have desired so long and ardently. 



50 



SPRING IN PRISON 

P. POLIVANOV 

The spring is coming! Nature everywhere 
Has wakened from her long and wintry sleep, 

And she has shaken off her robe of snow, 
And broken up the ice, so thick and deep. 

O'er the clear sky the cranes in northward flight 
Have passed in bands since early dawn of day ; 

Wild ducks are rushing by in clanging flocks ; 
The curlew's whistle sounds from far away. 

The noisy sea-gull hovers o'er the lake, 
And still to-day, as in the days of yore, 

All full of mighty strength, with stormy joy, 
The wave is breaking on the sandy shore. 

Long since, the joyous sounds of wakening life 
Have ceased an echo in our breasts to find ; 

Deadened the soul has grown through grief and 
pain, 
And over-weary are the heart and mind. 

The spring sun gives us but a cheerless light 
Through the dull glass that dims its golden 
ray, 

And the heart harbors deep a gloomy thought 
That even springtime will noi drive away. 

51 



THE PRISONER'S DREAM 

P. POLIVANOV 

A darksome night of winter, 

Dead silence without end! 
Where are you, my beloved, 

My brave and faithful friend? 

Your image, pure and lovely, 

In spite of bolt and bar, 
Before me comes; your fond, clear glance 

Shines on me like a star. 

The long, long years of parting, 

With grief and longing rife, 
The hand weighed down by bondage, 

Pains of a shattered life — 

Not all could dim that image, 
Your sweet head, golden bright; 

Still o'er my thoughts it reigneth, 
Unchanged its magic might. 

In this cold grave, I, living, 

Am buried from the sun; 
Monotonously, mournfully, 

The years pass, one by one. 

52 



THE PRISONER'S DREAM 

Sometimes in this dead stillness 

Is heard a groaning deep; 
The heart beats slowly, wearily, 

And thought is lost in sleep. 

But through the gloom your image 

Shines like a magic lamp ; 
Like a bright beam, it drives away 

The dark cell's cold and damp. 

For you is all forgotten; 

I far away have flown 
In dreams — and then my heart, dear love, 

Is filled with you alone. 

What fate has fallen to you 

Of sorrow or delight? 
Your path across life's meadow, 

Has it been smooth and bright? 



53 



IN ALEXIS RAVELIN 

P. POLIVANOV 

Always the same dim, cheerless, dusty vaults, 
The same bars darkening all the window- 
space ! 

Long ranks of years, that seem like evil dreams 
In broken sleep, stretch out before my face. 

If but one distant sound could here be heard 
Of life, broad, free, and seething like the 
main, 
It would have stirred me with its mighty 
strength, 
And eased the burden of this torturing pain. 

No! all around me reigns a deathly hush, 
Heart-crushing, grave-like ; in it nothing stirs 

Save now and then the buzzing of a fly , 
Or in the corridor the clash of spurs. 

Bright burden of emotions and of strife, 

Time of impassioned hope and fancy high, 
Of faith in glad days for posterity — 

Where are you now? Vanished as dreams 
go by! 

54 



IN ALEXIS RAVELIN 

A mist has settled over all the past, 
Enwrapping it forever in its shroud; 

And it has thickened to a winding-sheet, 
And hangs above me like a boding cloud. 

That leaden cloud depresses heavily; 

It chills the brain, with long confinement worn, 
And pierces deep my soul with poison hot 

Of black and heavy thoughts, in prison born. 



LAST DAYS 

P. POLIVANOV 

Year after year monotonously creeps; 

Year after weary year more callous grown, 
My life in semi-stupor drags along 

Behind the prison's gloomy wall of stone. 

The mind, depressed by long imprisonment, 
Has grown inert, and sleeps in idleness; 

The heart is numbed and irresponsive now; 
Feeling is dulled, grown wonted to distress. 

Indifferent, without anger, without pain, 
Into the viewless future now I gaze; 

My hands hang down in utter apathy; 

Nor grief nor passion stirs me in these days. 

'Tis dull to live thus idly ; 'tis a shame 
Beneath an ignominious yoke to dwell — 

To vegetate in body and in soul, 

In stupor dumb, within a prison cell. 

My over-burdened heart has no desire, 
No strength in it, to linger longer here. 

Eternal darkness, oh, enwrap me soon ! 

Vaults of my grave, draw nearer and more 



near 



56 



LOVE'S EBB AND FLOW 

A. K. TOLSTOY 

Believe me not, dear, when in hours of anguish 
I say my love for thee exists no more. 

At ebb of tide, think not the sea is faithless ; 
It will return with love unto the shore. 

E'en now I pine for thee with old-time passion, 
And place my freedom in thy hands once 
more. 

Already, with loud noise, the waves are hasting 
Back from afar to the beloved shore. 



57 



NIGHT AND MORNING 

M. L. MIKHAILOV 

We shall be buried on an eve stifling and close, 

'neath cloudy skies; 
Lightnings will play, the river roar, the forest 

utter moans and sighs. 

The night will be a night of storm ; mighty in 

their stupendous power, 
Rain, fire and thunder will burst forth from 

those dread clouds that darkly lower. 

But o'er our graves, foretelling that a bright 

day shall be given, 
The dawn will set a rainbow fair, spanning 

the whole wide heaven. 



58 



DEATH'S JEST, 

N. A. DOBROLIUBOV 

What if I die? 'Twere little grief! 

But one fear wrings my breast — 
Perhaps Deaths too, may play on me 

A grim, insulting jest. 

I fear that over my cold corpse 
Hot tears may fall in showers; 

That someone, with a foolish zeal, 
May heap my bier with flowers; 

That friends may crowd behind my hearse 
With thoughts of grief sincere, 

And when I lie beneath the mould, 
Men's hearts may hold me dear; 

That all which I so eagerly 

And vainly used to crave 
In life, may brightly smile on me 

When I am in my grave! 



59 



AT STRIFE 

(From the Yiddish of David Edelstadt) 

Hated are we, and driven from our homes, 
Tortured and persecuted, even to blood; 

And wherefore? 'Tis because we love the poor, 
The masses of mankind, who starve for food. 

We are shot down, and on the gallows hanged, 
Robbed of our lives and freedom without ruth, 

Because for the enslaved and for the poor 
We are demanding liberty and truth. 

Rut we will not be frightened from our path 
By darksome prisons or by tyranny; 

We must awake humanity from sleep, 

Yea, we must make our brothers glad and free. 

Secure us fast with fetters made of iron, 

Tear us like beasts of blood till life departs, 

5 Tis but our bodies that you will destroy, 
Never the sacred spirit in our hearts. 

You cannot kill it, tyrants of the earth! 

Our spirit is a plant immortal, fair; 
Its petals, sweet of scent and rich of hue, 

Are scattered wide, are blooming everywhere. 

60 



AT STRIFE 

In thinking men and women now they bloom, 
In souls that love the light and righteousness. 

As they strive on toward duty's sacred goal, 
Nature herself doth their endeavor bless — 

To liberate the poor and the enslaved 

Who suffer now from cold and hunger's 
blight, 
And to create for all humanity 

A world that shall be free, that shall be 
bright ; 

A world where tears no longer shall be shed, 
A world where guiltless blood no more shall 
flow, 

And men and women, like clear-shining stars, 
With courage and with love shall be aglow. 

You may destroy us, tyrants! 'Twill be vain. 

Time will bring on new fighters strong as we ; 
For we shall battle ever, on and on, 

Nor cease to strive till all the world is free! 



61 



MY WILL 

EDELSTADT 

Good friends, when I am dead, bear to my grave 
Our banner, freedom's flag of crimson hue, 
Stained with the blood poured from the toilers' 

veins. 
There 'neath the crimson banner sing to me 
My song, "At Strife," the song of liberty, 
That in the hearer's ear clangs like the chains 
Of the enslaved, Christian alike and Jew. 

E'en in the grave, O brothers, I shall hear 
My song of liberty, my stormy lay ; 
E'en there shall I shed tears for every slave, 
Christian or Jew; and when the swords I hear 
Clash in the final battle's blood and fear, 
Then, singing to the people from my grave, 
I will inspire their hearts, that glorious day! 



62 



DEC m 1905 






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